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The City In The Sea | Poems by Edgar Allan Poe · Ririro.com - Poetry

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  Speaker 1: Low. Death has reared himself a throne in a strange city,
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  Speaker 1: lying alone, far down within the dim west, where the
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  Speaker 1: good and the bad, and the worst and the best
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  Speaker 1: have gone to their eternal rest, their shrines and palaces
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  Speaker 1: and towers, time eaten, towers that tremble, not resemble nothing
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  Speaker 1: that is ours around by lifting winds forgot resignedly beneath
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  Speaker 1: the sky, the melancholy waters lie. No rays from the
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  Speaker 1: holy heaven come down on the long night time of
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  Speaker 1: that sown, But light from out the lurid sea streams
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  Speaker 1: up the turrets silently, gleams up the pinnacles far and free,
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  Speaker 1: up thoms, up, spires, up kingly halls, up, thanes, up
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  Speaker 1: babylon like walls, up shall long forgotten bowers of sculptured
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  Speaker 1: ivy as stone flowers, up many and many, a marvelous
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  Speaker 1: shrine whose wreath freezes intertwine the vial, the violet, and
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  Speaker 1: the vine. Resignedly beneath the sky, the melancholy waters lie,
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  Speaker 1: so blend the turrets and shadows there that all seems
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  Speaker 1: pendulous in air. While from a proud tower in the town,
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  Speaker 1: Death looks gigantically down there, open fanes and gaping graves
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  Speaker 1: yon level with the luminous waves, But not the riches
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  Speaker 1: there that lie in each idol's diamond eye. Not the
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  Speaker 1: gaily jeweled dead tempt the waters from their bed. For
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  Speaker 1: no ripples curl alas along that wilderness of glass. No
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  Speaker 1: swellings tell that winds may be upon some far off
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  Speaker 1: happier sea. No heaving's hint that winds have been on
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  Speaker 1: seas less hideously serene, but low astirs in the air
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  Speaker 1: the wave. There is a movement there, as if the
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  Speaker 1: towers had thrown aside in slightly sinking the dull tide,
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  Speaker 1: as if their tops had feebly given a void within
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  Speaker 1: the filmy heaven. The waves have now a redder glow.
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  Speaker 1: The hours are breathing faint and low. And when amid
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  Speaker 1: no earthly moans down down that town shall settle its hell,
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  Speaker 1: rising from a thousand thrones, shall do it reverence